


Saudade

by La_Marquise



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Marquise/pseuds/La_Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Kougami looks back on his past relationships.  They might have been very different, but the longing for them is the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saudade

**Author's Note:**

> I keep meaning to write fluff, but the sad fics keep coming. Posted from my tumblr.

They’d not known each other for very long, all things considered; that didn’t matter, not to them. Sometimes two individuals just get on so well that they might as well have known each other for twenty years. Such was, in Kougami’s mind, the case with him and Sasayama. They’d instantly clicked, becoming friends, thick as thieves within a matter of weeks.

It wasn’t long before they became lovers as well. It hadn’t taken much: a cheeky grin, a jerk of the head, a casual invitation to drinks. Years later, Kougami can still remember that first whisky-flavored kiss.

***

Their time together had been short, but, Kougami reasons, they’d managed to do so much together. Much more than many others. Kougami supposes that he should feel lucky, in a way. After all, the brightest of flames seldom burn for long. 

***

Kougami often thinks that the thing he misses the most is about Sasayama staying up until 4 a.m. chatting with him about everything and nothing. Kougami had often found himself in awe over just how intelligent Sasayama was; he was no scholar, of course, but the man had been able to fire off quip after witty quip whenever the moment presented itself.

Of course, Sasayama had not been a paragon of sophistication either. When Kougami had suggested he read The Old Man and the Sea, he’d scoffed and declared “why the fuck would I read a book about an old guy on a fishing trip?” A week later, though, when they’d lain together in bed, the smoke from their cigarettes curling upwards to the ceiling, Sasayama had muttered, “I read your fish book, Kou. Not impressed.”

Kougami had raised his eyebrows at the news. “You read it?”

“Well yeah. You surprised?”

“Surprised you can read.”

Sasayama had given Kougami’s shoulder a playful shove. “Fuck you, man.”

***

Sometimes, Kougami shamefully admits to himself that there are moments when he misses the sex more than anything. He knows that there were many other things about Sasayama that were far more meaningful, but god, sometimes he just really misses the sex. Sasayama had always been so unrelentingly enthusiastic, so eager to make things work even when they got sloppy, so ready push things as far as they could go. Their times together had always been rough, fast and hard. There were no sweet nothings, no whispered confessions, only heat and sweat and want.

Afterwards they’d always fall apart onto sweat-soaked bed sheets, chests heaving with laughter and exertion. They’d smoke each other’s cigarettes, drink each other’s booze and exchange lazy, tired kisses. Each time was more or less the same, predictable in its unpredictability; each time brought a certain closeness, and Kougami often finds himself yearning for it, even now. 

***

It might sound trite, but Kougami truly misses the way that Sasayama could make him laugh. The man had a definite knack for it. He could make anything funny, even the most nonsensical, vulgar jokes. Kougami didn’t know how he did it, really. Still doesn’t. Whenever he felt sure that he’d heard every sex joke in existence, Sasayama would conjure another, and god damn it if it wasn’t hilarious. Kougami has never laughed as hard as he did with Sasayama. 

***

The first night after discovering Sasayama’s remains, Kougami poured himself a drink, and, in doing so, inadvertently poured one extra. Force of habit. He’d merely glanced at the extra glass before seizing it and, raising it up, mumbled a soft “this one’s for you,” and knocked it back. 

***

If he was being honest, Kougami would say that he never expected to have such a connection with another person again. It wasn’t until Ginoza, in a moment of uncharacteristic forwardness, shoved him against the wall and smashed their lips together that Kougami admitted to himself that he might’ve spoken too soon.

***

Kougami and Ginoza’s transition from friends, to colleagues, and then to lovers had been undeniably rocky. Ginoza had a tendency to be attentive one moment and then frosty the next, and Kougami had thrown himself inextricably into his work, immersed himself far too deeply for such things. It had indeed been a rough start, but after first time they’d tumbled into bed, all roaming hands and soft kisses, Kougami had to wonder why they’d waited so long.

***

Ginoza was worlds different from Sasayama. Ginoza was softer, sweeter, and, though he’d never admit it, far gentler. Kougami took endless pleasure in seeing Ginoza’s carefully crafted veneer of stoicism crumble under a few well-placed touches. He loved seeing Ginoza’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughed, loved watching his brow furrow in concentration as he worked, adored the way his mouth twitched when he was trying to suppress a smile. 

*** 

Ginoza had a habit of criticizing Kougami when he was worried about him.

“That’s a disgusting habit, you know.” 

The two lay in bed, side by side. Kougami took a drag of his habitual post-coital cigarette and raised his eyebrows.

“You’re complaining now?”

“You’re damaging your health.”

“I’m well aware.” Kougami took another drag. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“You’ll make yourself sick if you do it too much.”

***

Kougami always thought that Ginoza had beautiful hands. Long, slender fingers, palms to match. They always looked so flawless and soft; Kougami took pride in knowing that Ginoza actually had some quite rough callouses on his palms; he’d ran his fingers over them often enough to commit them to memory. There are times, even now, when Kougami misses them more than he’d care to admit.

***

They’d never said “I love you.” Not in words, at least. The proof laid in the little things. Soft touches, lingering glances, bringing each other coffee in bed. Ginoza used to stop by Kougami’s dorm on weekends under the pretense of doing work and instead spend hours on the couch with Kougami’s head in his lap, work forgotten. Kougami would gently tease Ginoza about his lagging work ethic, only to have his words muffled by a kiss. They had known each other for so long that verbal declarations of love weren’t necessary, but sometimes, when he looks back on those times, Kougami wishes he’d said something.

***

Kougami didn’t tell Ginoza that he was going to leave, although he wondered whether Ginoza might have suspected. He wouldn’t have understood, like Sasayama would have. Sasayama would have encouraged it. Ginoza was always so straightforward, so fair, so by-the-book. He wouldn’t have allowed Kougami to leave. Sometimes Ginoza just cared too much. That is what Kougami reasoned to himself at least, but he also wondered whether or not he’d have allowed Ginoza to persuade him to stay.

A hastily penned note consisting of an apology was all that Kougami left for Ginoza to find, knowing that he deserved much more.

***

Kougami doesn’t like to think about the past anymore. Too much of it seeps into his dreams and pervades his subconscious for him to want to devote his waking moments to dwelling on it. There are times when Kougami made maudlin by alcohol, allows himself to remember. They never end well.

There exists a state that one can enter in which one feels an intense, all-consuming melancholic nostalgia for something lost that can never be recovered. A state of incompleteness. Kougami wonders whether there’s a single word for it, in a language he doesn’t know. Purely for curiosity’s sake. Kougami knows that the only way to truly cure the feeling would be to forget the past entirely, but he also knows he doesn’t want to. Not yet, anyway.


End file.
